When Shadows Fall
by Tetra007
Summary: "I will stand," Zelda said, "I promise." After dreaming of things to come, a shy, nervous Zelda tries to take a stand against the dark future she has foreseen for herself and her people.
1. Nocturne of Shadow

**_~When Shadows Fall~_**

**Summary: **"I will stand against this coming darkness," Zelda said, "I promise." After dreaming of things to come, a shy, nervous Zelda tries to take a stand against the dark future she has foreseen for herself and her people.

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, Zelda isn't mine, if it were, it would be far more…awesome. I kid. I could never beat the masters at their own _game_. There's nothing like a pun to get a story rolling.

**AN:** Brief one my dears, this fic will have violence, torture, possible romance, swearing, OCs, and mild alcohol consumption by minors (since, you know, the water sucked in this period), if that's not to your taste, you might want to steer clear of this, though none of it should be too explicit. **Consider yourself warned.**

000

Part 1: Nocturne of Shadow

Through the shadows, Zelda ran. Heart thumping. Hands sweating. Hair clinging to her forehead. Here, she could see nothing. The darkness enclosed around her, twisting and swirling around her, it choked her with its invisible hands. A voice like thunder and as deep as night reached her ears, making her stagger to a halt in this realm of shadow and despair. Zelda fell to her knees, sharp stones cutting her bare shins, her hands.

"Where is the hero, child?"

Tears trailed down her face.

"Where is he who would stand against me?"

She gagged as the shadows released her from her bonds. A warm, dry wind blew through her hair and dispersed the shadows around her, revealing that she was on top of a mountain. From here, she could see all Hyrule spread out before her. Without warning, a great conflagration consumed the Kokiri Forest, leaving only the burnt corpses of trees behind. Then Death Mountain, tall and mighty, fell under a deadly chill. Lake Hylia's pleasant waters turned red with blood. The people of the Desert turned to stone. Other images came too: five lights consumed by shadow; a charred phoenix with broken wings covered in blood; a hand shrouded behind a curtain; a dark figure donning the royal garb.

"Speak, princess," said the voice from before, the earth beneath her quivered in its wake. Dread twisted her stomach into a knot.

"I will not let you do this." Zelda climbed to her feet her legs shook beneath her, barely supporting her weight. She balled her hands into fists. "I won't."

The voice laughed in response.

Clouds and smog twirled in horrid patterns beneath a red sun, its fires eating the lands below. Two armies fought. Some wore faded garb, dented armor. Most were clad in nothing more than ragged and tattered clothing, carrying pitchforks, spades, bent scythes, axes and makeshift spears. They fought creatures of legend, giant spiders, the undead, wizrobes dressed in tattered robes. Even from here, she heard the sounds of war: metal clung, cannons roared, her people screamed, cries of agony and despair. Zelda saw an image of herself stabbing a rapier at the heavens causing blood to fall from the sky, soaking the land beneath in a red flood. Yet, in the midst of that bloodstained land, a light arose, facing a tower built of obsidian and crimson. On top stood a dreadful figure, clad in black with golden eyes and an orange mane. He leaped down from the tower taking the form of a dragon then wrestled with the light.

The dragon fell. The land clouded over. _Hidden_, thought the princess, tears dampening her eyes, _but saved._

Behind her, Zelda heard weeping. An aged man placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, a young woman with golden hair beside him. Soon, a crowd gathered on the mountain top: some Hylian, some Goron, some Kokiri dressed in green. A few were of a birdlike race she could not name. They all wept, a people alive but melancholic, weeping, it seemed, for their salvation. In their eyes, she saw despair, but despair tinged with something akin to hope.

"I will stand against this coming darkness," said she, meeting the man's eyes. Zelda whipped the tears from her face with the back of her sleeve. Then she swept her eyes over the crowd, forcing a smile upon her face. For them she had to remain strong. They would need her in these coming days. "I promise."

The dream faded.

Zelda awoke.

The darkness around her smothered her, her breaths coming in raspy gasps. _No gods! Please—no, I'm on my bed._ _It's…it's too soft to be that shadowy land._ A thick blanket covered her head. Another was wrapped tightly around her chest and torso. She tossed these to the floor, glancing around the room.

She could hear rain splattering against the parapet outside. Large drops from the sound of it. For the moment, that sound comforted her and eased her panic. On any other night like this, she would've picked up her blankets and rolled onto her side. The song the rain sang luring her back asleep, but the horrible vision kept sleep at bay. She needed to get up, not lay around like her mother's cat did in front of the fireplace where only a small blaze burned. Thomas, the ancient, orange tabby yawned, stretching its legs and standing. It crossed the room, stopping in front of her bed. It scratched the decorate rug, looking at her, waiting for her to notice.

"Stop that," the princess whispered, but the cat did not heed her command. Instead, it ran its claws against the carpet, mocking her_. I can't even make a cat listen to me._

How was she to keep her promise if, in reality, she was nowhere near as strong and brave and wise as she had been in that dream? Why did that old, stupid cat have to remind her she wasn't some heroine like the princesses of old? No, she was just a young woman who'd rather hide herself in books than learn to wield a sword or go to court. She wasn't worthy of her namesake. She shivered and, ignoring the cat's insistent clawing, Zelda called for her nursemaid: "Dena!"

The double doors slammed against the wall. In one hand, Dena carried a lantern, and in the other, a long knife. The woman walked like a creeping yet elegant beast, a cat, or, perhaps, a panther from the land of Cabiria. Zelda had read about those in her studies yesterday. Even if the blood-red eyes did not quite fit the beast's description, she was sure the hook-nosed nurse wouldn't mind the comparison. After all, the red-eyed, dark haired Sheikah could be fearsome when she was in the right mood. That was, if there was _ever_ a right mood. Even when the woman smiled, she looked like she was ready to kill any who endangered her charge.

Though, if Dena knew she neglected her archery practice for myths and sweet cakes, she'd get the sharp end of the woman's tongue. Zelda decided she had better things to think about. She could grow distracted later; books were quite good at waiting to be read.

"Princess," the woman said with a frown, glaring at the cat. Thomas stopped and fled. Zelda looked up. The orange lantern light transformed the lines on her faces into creases, and the creases into valleys. "Why shout? Did Prince Adrien's assassins jump out of the walls and come for you too?"

Zelda sighed. Dena shared the captain's terrible sense of humor. "It was a dream, a terrible dream."

"Night terrors are no reasons to wake half the castle staff." She sat the lantern on the night stand.

Zelda blushed, remembering what she had done as a child. Shouting, screaming, calling for a mother that would not come. On nights like that, only her father's presence had brought her comfort, but she had not had those terrible dreams for many years. "No, no, not like those. It was dreadful. A prophecy, I'm sure of it!"

The aged woman shook her head, resting a hand on Zelda's wide shoulder. "A bad dream, even—"

"I'm sixteen."

"When was the last time Hyrule fought such evil that those powers need be awoken again?" Zelda looked away as the woman spoke. From the night stand, she picked up the clear glass of diluted wine. "Take a drink." She stared at the glass instead. "Zelda."

"I know what you're thinking." Zelda's grip on the glass tightened. "But just this once, please, put those thoughts aside."

"You must not let yourself become like Adrien," Dena said, weariness creeping into her voice. "You have to keep your head, child, we cannot have the heir losing her wits like her brother."

"He's just paranoid, not crazy." The princess slipped on her light blue slippers, placing the wine on her shelf a little more heavily than needed. "A thousand years is a horribly long time, I know, but even you won't say Ganondorf's name. Even father won't. Do you think the gods mistakenly endowed me with the mark?"

At this, Dena folded her arms. "Many princesses have had it. Inheritance doesn't equate to destiny, child."

"And the monsters that have been attacking caravans are just rumors. The crops haven't been failing. We've certainly not had problems that the Princess of Destiny didn't foresee long ago." Zelda walked past the nurse, passing the windows and the double doors that led out to her balcony. "Don't tell me you've not seen the reports."

The woman followed her in silence, however, bringing the lantern with her. They entered her study. Here, another fire burned in a small fireplace beside several book shelves packed with scrolls, leather-bound books, and a few rolled up maps. Her desk faced three large windows, though the thick curtains had been drawn earlier that day. The desk was covered with books, stacks of paper, and a small collection of odds and ends. Even a plate with a few select delicacies she had stolen from the kitchen earlier that day. Or rather, Adrien had stolen them, he was a lot sneakier than she could ever hope to be.

Dena picked up the half-eaten honey roll. "Again."

She stared. _Does she always have to do this?_

"If you keep stealing from the kitchen, you will be more than a little plump."

_Yes, what a silly question._ The princess hid her hands behind her back, rolling them into fists. "Please…, could you take a message to my father?"

"If that is what you wish." Tilting her head, she deliberately met the Sheikah's eyes. There was something there, doubt, but also, uncertainly. Dena furrowed her brow. "I will not stop you from this action, princess, but, I do not see it as wise. The king has enough on his plate, if you would do more than read books on…" She leaned forward slightly. "…panthers and the wildlife of Cabiria, perhaps you would have some idea what that man has to deal with it."

_I know plenty well. I just told you!_ But she kept these words to herself, instead, taking a seat in the cushioned chair in front of the desk. Dabbing her quill in the ink, she quickly penned a note to her father, only briefly mentioning the dream and her fears of what might come. After folding it, Zelda stamped it with her signet ring and handed it to her nursemaid. "And please," she said, giving Dena a pleading look, "ask him to meet with me. It's…it's important."

"I will." The woman sighed, placing it in the pocket of the satchel she always wore around her waist. "In the morning, I will send it. Good night, Zelda, and please, try to get some sleep."

The woman left, but Zelda barely noticed, instead, she had picked up a large, leather-bound tome and leaned back in her chair. She knew she would not rest tonight, but at the very least, she could relax. Tomorrow would have enough troubles of its own; she only prayed that her father would take the time to listen.

She opened the book and read from the tome: _When the Princess of Destiny spoke with her father to warn him of the man from the Desert, his eyes grew blind and his ears were deafened. He did not heed his daughter despite his love for her…_

Soon, she fell into a fitful sleep, her head laying on top of the tome on her desk. Once when she had awoken, she opened her curtains and saw that the sun had risen and it was nearing ten. Her stomach released a monstrous growl. _Breakfast_. She blinked. She hadn't had it so _late_ since she was sick last winter… What would the cooks think?

Then, she noticed a note on her desk. Quickly, Zelda unsealed the letter then sighed. She would meet her father, brother, and the captain at two. _Thank Nayru,_ she thought, _or not._ _Oh gods, please, make him listen._


	2. The Clown Prince

**AN:** Sorry for the lateness, I got sick then had quite a bit of work to do. Anyways, As I am no poet, the drinking song is from _A Tankard of Ale: An Anthology of Drinking Songs_, by Theodore Maynard, circa 1920. This book is _not_ under copy write, but I figure that some fellow writers out there might find it an interesting read and good for research purposes. The tune used in this chapter is "A Tankard of Ale" and can be found on 3w. Link provided: /stream/tankardofaleanth00maynrich/tankardofaleanth00maynrich_

Now onto the show! Some OCs appear in this chapter, please remember, characters are just being introduce at this point and no one will hit their character development in the opening chapter. It takes time, guys, please. :P

Finally, a big thank you for SmashQueen for beta-ing this…and guys, some warnings may apply to this chapter…(it's a little violent and someone swears). **Consider yourselves warned.**

000

Part 2: The Clown Prince

On that same morning, as was his custom, the King of Hyrule had called the Council to order to speak on matters concerning their fair land. It was meant to give the King advice, to tell him what was transpiring in Hyrule, to keep him accountable to his people by making him meet with their representatives. A lovely idea, really, but old Nicholas setting on his bench was growing sour and sore, and quite bored out of his mind. He rested his head on his hand, trying not to fall asleep while Theobald rambled, giving a discourse on why they should enclose common lands and fields for their own personal use…for gardens and hunting and all those things the wealthy and fat were likely to do.

And to their shame, the council would pass it. He knew this lot. Wealthy fools, they wouldn't give a damn that this would just make the recent famine _worse, _these rich men in their ornate robes setting on cushioned benches didn't understand one iota about the people they were meant to represent. No, they only represented their own issues, their _own _people. He hated their idiocy, hated that Daphnes couldn't see that his own ideals had wrought more harm than good since he had established this Chamber of Fools.

They only created more problems for their people. Ah, how he still wished for the good old days when the king was seen as the absolute leader appointed by the gods. How could Daphnes think this better? Daphnes who sat on a simple chair in the Chamber listening intensely, and glaring at Theobald's back whenever he thought no one would notice. He could strike this law down in an instant. Save the people from misery. Be the king his father had been.

Instead, he never raised his voice. He looked about as amused as a man who'd been hit by the urine thrown out the third story window of a tenant, but such anger didn't compel him to speak. Theobald called for a vote as the hand on the clock neared ten. Soon, it passed into law. No one opposed. More gardens and venison, indeed.

He sighed. At long last, the morning section ended. Nicholas slowly rose from the bench, his old bones creaking and cracking as he slowly lifted himself from his seat with help of his white cane. The Councilmen had gathered in small groups by the time he reached his feet and started to make his way towards the large double doors at the other end of the hall. They led to the main courtyard, hopefully a place where he could find solace and a damn break break from the reek of erudite stupidity.

"Nicholas." The old man in question stopped, cursing under his breath. Stupid legs, why couldn't they work fast enough to cross the white marble floors of the Chamber? When he was a youth, he would've fled this stuffy room minutes ago. Usually, though, no one stopped to bother him these days. He was just too damn old to be worth their time. Gods, he could barely remember the days when they'd respected him. "Advisor."

"Out with it, young man." He said in hoarse, worn voice. He could use some wine too.

The "young man" in question coughed. He knew that terse yet polite cough from anywhere, it was the king. Nicholas turned, and, like a lad forty years his junior, felt his cheeks flush red in embarrassment. Nicholas lifted a sleeve to his face, faking a sneeze and carefully wiping his nose on the blue robe that marked him as a member of the council of fools. It was, he figured, a proper use for such a garment, even his handkerchief deserved more respect than it on a day like this.

"That is a kindly sentiment, Advisor, though one that, I fear, no longer applies." The King, however, wore a boyish smile which belied his gray hair and worn face. For a moment, his appearance seemed to shift. In front of him was a man that looked more like his son than either he or the boy would ever admit. Daphnes placed a strong hand on his shoulder, steering him towards the doors. "Walk with me, old friend."

"It will be a terribly slow stroll, your Majesty," said Nicholas as they passed out of the Chamber and into the morning sunlight. Two members of the royal guard fell in step behind them. In the tulip trees that lined either side of the stone path, he could hear birds and below these, he spotted small red flowers planted in cultivated rows. Soon, they passed under an arch covered with climbing vines and little yellow flowers and into the famed rose garden of Hyrule Castle. "To think, those fools think their gardens will compete with this one."

"Yes." Said the king as he stopped to examine one of the rose bushes, this was his hobby after all. Though, one Nicholas had never quite understood.

"Do you wonder why I did not oppose?" Nicholas asked. "Why I wouldn't stop such foolishness from taking place?"

"Zelda had a dream," said the king after he had finished examining the plant for any blemishes or disease.

"In my experience," Nicholas began, placing an aged hand on the man's high shoulder, trying to give his former pupil comfort, "Bad dreams do not warrant a detracted mind, Your Majesty."

At this, King Hyrule frowned and Nicholas found he regretted his words. Daphnes was not the kind of man to neglect his duties as father to the daughter he cherished so very much. And, without a mother to raise her, the man had always lavished more attention than the court saw proper. That, however, would not quill the worry wrought in the king's dark, blue eyes.

"Then what was this dream?" he ventured, folding his arms as a cold breeze picked up the corners of robe and blow them out behind him. The old man shivered. "Not a mere childhood nightmare I take it?"

The king shook his head and led him to the fountain in the midst of the rose garden. Here a statue of the late Queen of Destiny stood, overlooking the courtyard with her stern gaze and matchless beauty carved into stone for all to witness for eternity. From the bowl at her feet, water sprayed into the stone basin below where Hylian runes were carved into the marble fountain. A simple spell crafted into the stonework of the fountain long ago to make it spray water high into the air in otherwise impossible patterns. Rumor had it that the queen herself had designed the spellwork, but Nicholas had his doubts, after all, the fountain had only been around for two centuries. She hadn't lived for over nine.

"I would normally have taken it to be thus; yet recent events make me fear otherwise," said the king as Nicholas sat on a wooden bench in front of the fountain, feeling exhaustion weigh his shoulders down. The king, however, did not notice. "At her navel, the priest said she would bare the gift of foresight as her ancestor once had."

"That," Nicholas said, after catching his breath, "was not in the official announcement."

"It did not seem wise to make that public." _Nor any of Council or your friends. Daphnes, you're more politically savvy than you appear at times._ He mused. If the king had informed the people, there may have been riots. Fear certainly, and after the famine and the short rebellion that sprang up before Zelda was born, the people would not have reacted positively to that news. It had been a trying time, one, that had been one of the main reasons that the king had created the Chamber of Fools.

Nicholas frowned.

"You have your doubts, and, admittedly, so do I." The girl had been cursed with nightmares since her mother had passed away, even though they had lessened in the last few years. "But Nicholas…"

"She doesn't like me, you know, though I can't blame her." The king raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Perhaps if you did not whack her with a stick whenever she fell asleep, she would think better of you." the king replied.

Nicholas chuckled. "That may be the case, but if she could learn to listen when I lectured her on politics and history just as much as crafting potions and other magical items, than, perhaps, she'd still have her knees when she reaches your age."

The king did not look amused, but instead of commenting further, he said, "But if these dreams are prophecies, then your wisdom will be needed."

Nicholas scratched his white beard. "And if they are?"

"Then I will send her to safety," said he, "But I must ask, Nicholas, where is Adrien, Nicholas? Surely, he had lessons with you this morning ere the Council had its session?"

"The boy?" asked Nicholas, anger seeping into his voice unbidden. "Your son is just like you were, Daphnes. He scampered off, though knowing that clown, he's not off training with the royal guard or even the soldiers as you once did, no, he's even more boneheaded."

"At a tavern again." The King sighed. "But which?"

"I may be able to answer that, or at the very least, be able to find him," said a voice from behind the king.

Nicholas hadn't heard him approach, though, it seemed, neither had the king. He wasn't the only one going deaf. The young man wore heavy boots on his feet. His clinking boots should've resounded against the white paving stones, yet neither had noticed if they had. A royal guard, or possibly knight, despite that the only sign of this was the sword he wore at his side. Instead of chainmail or armor, he wore a double breasted coat in the Hylian colors and light, magically enhanced armor beneath. A newfangled crafted item that Nicholas didn't approve of, after all, it made the royal guard look less opposing and the men weak.

The young man bowed, a few dark curls bouncing over his eyes as he did so. _Needs a haircut too, _he thought, disapprovingly. "Your Majesty."

"Samuel." Ah, it was Captain Vince. The knight's scarred face grimaced, though it was probably meant to only be a frown. Some people just had unfortunate faces.

"Councilor Nicholas." He gave a nod, then, stood, straight as a stick with his hands behind his back. A few inches over six feet, the man was nearly the king's height but nowhere near his girth. Daphnes, he had long figured, could go without a meal or three. "I did not mean to interrupt."

"As a matter of fact," said the King, "I wish to have a word with you, though not here or now."

The man nodded, still standing at attention. "As you command," said he. "When would that be?"

"Only after you have found my son, and I pray you will not be late," Daphnes said.

"I will send my men to do so at once." He turned to go, but Daphnes coughed. "Your Majesty?"

"Personally, Samuel. You and he are to meet me at two past noon." The knight did not look amused, although, he never did. "Sober. Nicholas, do you by chance…"

Nicholas pulled out a small bottle. In it was a green potion with a blue tint. He handed it to the king, who, in turn, handed it to the captain. "One mouthful," said Nicolas, "two if he's unconscious, do not overdo it, young man, or you'll keep him awake for fortnight."

He pocketed the medicine inside his long coat. "Thank you, Councilor." He gave another slight bow then turned to the King. "Your Majesty. With your leave…"

"Go, captain." After giving a nod to the two men on duty, he left, making his way through the rose bushes instead of using the path like a _normal person_ should. Whatever had brought him there was forgotten. _Or perhaps it was Daphnes idea. _Nicholas gazed up at the man as he watched the captain go. When he turned back to Nicholas, worry furrowed his brow.

"As for you, Advisor," Daphnes said, "Should ready yourself for this meeting… If you could find a prophecy that matches what she says—"

"But that could take weeks to find," he said. "Even months."

"—do so. But be prepared to write it down. I do not wish to be a fool as my predecessor was long ago," he said, "though I fear I may be one already."

With that, the king took left Nicholas in silence as the sun neared eleventh hour. With a sigh, he collected himself, and started towards the Great Library in the Castle's north tower. It would be a long trip.

000

In a city the size of the capital, a young man could find any number of taverns and inns that cantered to those looking for a merry time in any the early hours of the day. So many, in fact, that Vince had disregarded Daphnes' command as mere advice; one man could not hope to find the prince with such short notice even when he knew where to look.

Or rather, he hoped knew where to look. If the prince had slipped out last night, he might be lying unconscious in a back alley without his purse. Or in a bed of hay inside an inn. Safe, but without his purse. Once, they'd even found a note on his person when. The author had wanted restitution for his chopped off ear, his ale, and his puppy's broken tail.

When he had become a knight, he'd never thought that one day he would be Captain Nanny or that the prince would cause more trouble for the royal guards and Hylian Knights than any robber or would-be assassin had in the last decade.

This was all because a new recruit had, once again, accepted a bribe. He always runs off whenever Daphnes schedules a meeting, he thought as he walked through the working class district. Here, among the mill and textile workers, one was likely to get robbed, but not as likely as in the slums. The roads were paved, but covered in muck; the tenements were made of a mix of old stone ruins, wood, and slop bricks and built so close together a fire could destroy the whole district. Vince had grown up in a place like this, though the stench of urine and unclean, sweaty flesh was one he could no longer claim to be used to. Nor the crowds, nor the ruckus…

…Nor the small hand that had just stolen his purse. _It serves me right._ He watched the urchin disappear back into the crowd, fully aware that he could've stopped her. _After all, I haven't the time…and the scamp needs those more than I_. And he had another tavern to check, the last one on this street, in fact.

The sign of The Wayward Pony gleamed in the sunlight. A flesh coat of paint that labeled the establishment as nice for these parts, perhaps it served supervisors and merchants who were a little down on their luck. They weren't the normal kind of rabble-rouser Adrien often liked to hang out with on these little escapades. He almost passed it by, but then, he heard an angry shout.

A scream.

Broken glass. Something wooden slammed against the wall. A small crowd of curious onlookers were gathered outside the door. Suddenly, it threw open; a burly man crashed against the old paving stones, spraying mud and waste at their feet. They stepped back, then, a few brave souls ran past him to get a better look inside. Vince pushed through these men and into the tavern itself.

_Dear gods._ He thought, stopping for a moment to study the scene. Men brawled: some wielding bottles, some chairs, some on tables, and some on the floor, either unconscious or dead. One, however, dressed in a red coat long coat that was much too fine and wearing a silk cravat, defended a young woman in a blue dress. His face as bright as the coat he wore, concentrating with his golden hair. Unlike the others, he used a sword and a makeshift shield.

_Dammit Adrien._ Vince entered the chaos, dodging men, fists, and bottles. However, he kept his eyes locked on the prince. A large man came at Adrien from behind, a broken bottle in his hands. Vince shouted. Adrien lifted his shield in time. Glass shattered on impact, then he rammed the swords' pummel stone into the man's groin. His opponent bellowed in pain, giving Adrien a chance to hit the man's head with his shield. The man crumpled to the ground. The prince nodded and grinned, "Hey, Vince, here to join in—"

A different man stabbed him in the side with a chair leg. Adrien flinched, dropping his shield. His eyes grew wide with fear, panic. Vince swore under his breath, but even if he wanted to, he couldn't get there in time.

Three men, drunk, but still standing and carrying an array of improvised weaponry charged at him. One threw a punch at him. Missed and fell over on his face. Another tried to slam a chair into his side. Vince caught it and pulled it from the man's grasp. He threw it at the third man before he could even attack. This gave the second man time to grab a knife from his belt, a not-so-drunk smirk spreading across his features.

_Great._ He glanced at Adrien. The boy eyes were closed. Nose crooked; bloodied. The girl he'd been protecting, however, had grabbed his sword and despite swinging it around uselessly, she had managed to injure the fellow who had knocked out the prince. It would have to be enough for now, Vince dodged his opponent's wide swing, grabbed his wrist and twisted it, making the man drop the blade on his foot. The drunk cursed then fell, head-first, into a table. Vince took the knife from the man's foot and scanned the tavern.

Most of the men, it seemed, were too injured, scared, or dead to fight, including the man who had knocked the prince out. Some though, were smart and somber enough to cower under tables or behind chairs. A few were even laughing, and one sung a few words to a tune:

"_To those me good friend my love so extends,  
>I cannot truly express it<em>;"

Vince carefully made his way over to Adrien, doing his best to avoid stepping on outstretched limbs, faces, and broken glass as he walked.

"_When with you I meet, yer words so sweet,  
>I am unwilling to miss it."<em>

The girl lifted Adrien's sword and pointed it at his chest once he reached them. Vince took his blade from its sheath, pressed it against hers, and lowered it to her side. "You have my thanks—"

"He's the prince," she said, "I've seen his picture. I…he…I won't let you…!"

She tried to bring her sword up again, but could not nudge his blade an inch. "Girl, I am Sir Samuel Vince of the Hylian Knights and Captain of the Royal Guards, I've no intention to harm him."

The young woman nodded. "But he's…"

"Let me see him, please," he said, but at the same time, brushed past her. After going down on his knees, Vince checked the prince's wrist for a pulse. It was there, beating strongly. Then, he took out Nicholas' potion from the pocket of his coat and forced a few mouthfuls of the bluish liquid down his throat then watched him patiently. A few moments later, Adrien wheezed, hacking up air, but luckily, no blood.

"That…that…stuff's awful…gods, couldn't Lord Dastery make something that tastes better?" He paused to wipe spit from his face, but winced when his hand brushed his still-broken nose. "Hurt like shit."

"It'll hurt like Hell soon enough." Vince offered the young man a hand. "Here."

"Than…ks…but…" Adrien shook his head, leaning heavily on Vince as he reached his feet. "Twisted my ankle against that last fellow. You know, cap'n, he was actually a good fighter, for a drunk."

Vince nodded. "Give the owner our condolences."

"She's heard them." Vince furrowed his brow, but smiled. Adrien laughed. "But thank you," she said, bowing. The proprietress looked at the prince, meeting his dark, blue eyes with a steely gaze. "I hope your father will pay for this. You can't let a girl go without her livelihood."

"Ah…of…course…," his voice snuck in his throat for a moment, "Father's going to kill me."

"Just another reason to head back."

Adrien's shoulders slumped with dread. "Yeah…"

000

Adrien did not like the smell of the infirmary. It was not that it smelled like blood or medicine. No, the ladies who ran it made sure it did not; instead, it smelled like lavender and roses. And it smelled clean, impeccably so. Just like the white sheets on his bed, and the white walls, and the white ceiling. Even the nightstand by the bed he sat on was white, and had they been able to, he was sure the fire roaring within the white fire place would have white flames as well.

_It's a good thing they haven't learned to force white flames to make heat_, he thought as he looked at the clock on the wall. It read one o'clock. His little adventure hadn't been nearly as successful as he hoped, in fact, had it been, he would be drunk right now in that tavern instead of somber with a sore nose and a sore ankle. The nurse had decided that a fairy was needed to heal these aches, or perhaps, father had commanded it.

_But it's not like father to be so wasteful. _He frowned, taking the plate off the nightstand by his bed. At least the food wasn't white. He picked up the roll and dumped it in his soup, taking a hearty bite.

A knock at the door signaled an unwanted visitor. After swallowing, he called, "Don't just stand there like an idiot, come in."

The door clicked open. Vince stood there at attention, the man had an amazing posture, one that his father wished he would emulate. He let himself slump a little in the captain's presence instead. "Here to give me an earful again?"

"Of water? Not likely." He entered the room, however, without receiving permission. It always amazed Adrien how others saw the captain as so formal, so proper, even unkind. More like steel than a man. But at the moment, the façade dropped a little, he could see fatigue in the captain's dark eyes and a shade or two of worry. "You've got to stop doing this."

"There's a seat. Haven't got to stand, cap." Adrien gestured to the stupid white chair. At least the paint was chipping. He could see spots of beige beneath. Vince did as he requested. "Oh, you could tell me I need to be more responsible, but you know I won't listen. It's not like I'm the heir. Just the spare to the throne, ya know." He took another hearty bite. "Not a worry in the world for me."

"Who'll be in the headlines tomorrow." Oh, right, the _Hylian Times_. Vince was like all the old men in the castle. He didn't like the _Times_ or well, the new _times_. Adrien guessed that was what happened when one grew up in an age when books were written by hands and scrolls were still considered literature.

"It'll make me out to be a hero." He gave the captain his best grin. If Vince were a woman, it would've charmed the socks off him.

Instead, he sighed. "Of course, the 'Clown Prince'," he said. Adrien rolled his eyes and took another bite. "That's what they call you. And I'll be the court jester."

"You don't make jokes." Adrien swirled his soup with the remains of his roll. "Or if you do, they're blacker than your hair."

"It's getting greyer," Vince remarked in a flat tone. Usually, a comment like that would've gotten a sarcastic remark, he continued, "Adrien, if I hadn't gotten there faster, you and that girl could've died. Didn't you consider that? Don't you ever think before you do things like this?"

Adrien stare at his soup. The specks of bread, random vegetables, and beef seemed much more interesting than they had a moment before.

"All I wanted was to drink," he found himself saying, "you know, sing some dainties. I didn't think there was going to be trouble."

"And?"

"I defended her."

He placed the bowl on the table. "I got some wine, sat at a table, and these two drunks came in and yelled at her. I hardly got a sip or two! When they threatened her, I came to her defense. It…then escalated and got…well, you were there, I…thanks for coming."

All he got for that was a nod. Not even a flicker of a smile. "We shouldn't leave the king waiting…" With that, Vince stood, leaving Adrien to stare at the clock with dread. Only fifteen minutes. _Perhaps…no, sometimes, I just can't escape him._

000

Remember to leave a review, with your thoughts, issues, compliments (hopefully), etc. And...yes, I agree, Adrien isn't the nicest guy around...and no, I can't guarantee that he wasn't lying to Vince either. The real reason that Adrien defended could be because he started a brawl and then got her involved somehow. Who knows.

Ha, it seems my linebreaks weren't appearing. Right, 000's for now on. Woah, formatting error indeed!

*Enclosure was a real issue, but it's not quite right here (as Nicholas doesn't completely understand it, though he doesn't like it either), though it did cause a lot of problems for England in the 16th and especially 17th centuries...


	3. The Game of the Gods

**AN: **In which the plot _thickens_…Okay, that was cliché. Special thanks again to SmashQueen for Betaing this chapter. You can consider this a Christmas Present. This time, no warnings apply, so, no catchphrase either.

Darn, I was getting used to it too. Perhaps next time, now, onto the show! Another AN is at the end of this chapter…**consider yourself warned!**

**Part Three:** The Game of Gods

000

Zelda paced, the small train of her azure dress following behind her. It sometimes snagged on furniture or the golden trim of the lavish carpet which covered the wooden floor of the small waiting room outside of father's main study in his tower. Sunlight poured through three windows, the maroon curtains pushed to either side, catching her long, golden hair whenever her meticulous pacing led her to that side of the room. At last, Zelda stopped in front of the oaken grandfather clock, looking, once again, at its silver face. It read half-past two. She sighed, a short, petite thing, and would have started to pace again if Adrien had not decided to speak at that moment.

"You won't make the old man hurry up by digging a trench in the floor, Zel." Zelda turned to him, meeting her brother's eyes with a fix gazed. He slouched on one of the cushioned chairs which stood against the wall, a cup of wine in his hand. A small plate of untouched fruit and sweet cakes sat on a small table beside his chair.

"Don't give me that look." He picked up a grape, rolling it between his fingers. "You know he's probably in there right now, eating his fill, having his own private feast. Do you want one?"

Adrien gestured at one of the pastries. Zelda picked it and took a bite. She always ate when she grew anxious, a habit which…_which has some unfortunate results…_ and the tight bodices that were now in style did little to obscure her more than curvaceous figure. _I have more important things to worry about than that!_

"Adrien," Captain Vince said from his position by the closed door that led to the hall outside. Instead of his usual straight-back stance, he leaned against the wall, hands folded below his chest. Even so, he still looked like a man that could attack at any moment. She'd never liked him, but then again, she didn't know him that well. But the scars that covered his face had frightened her when she was a child. Now, however, she did not know what to make of him.

"It's the truth, though." Her brother swallowed his grape, and, somehow, slumped down further into the cushions of his chair. If he slouched any more he'd end up on his back. "The old man plans a meeting for two then is late for his own meeting. Oh, I know you have to show loyalty to our father, but you've been at this job long enough that he must've done this to you a thousand times over, maybe a million. A billion? Zillion?"

"Perhaps he scheduled a meeting we three weren't invited to," said the captain.

"Us…three?" Zelda looked from her brother, to the captain, then back again. "What…? I thought he was only here for…for security…to guard the door."

"Security? He's the captain and a knight to boot. Though, I admit, father's a bit overprotective," Adrien remarked. "Actually, father requested our presence. Don't know why. Probably to remind me of what a terrible son I am."

"No, just a terrible brawler."

"Huh?" Adrien asked with a bewildered expression on his face. Sometimes, Zelda could not believe how daft her twin could be. Even she had seen him fight, and despite not being that good at the sword herself, she knew her brother was not much better.

"But why are you here?" Zelda took a lock of her hair then spun it around her finger, a nervous habit that she had had since she was a child. "I just wanted to speak with father, not have the whole castle hear about it. What is he thinking…?"

Adrien shrugged. "That's odd. I haven't an inkling honestly."

Zelda felt anger nibble at her inside, but kept the emotion below the surface. The only sign of her anger was that she pinched the strand of hair she had twisted around her finger. "Captain," the man in question lifted his head slightly as she spoke, "did my father inform you as to why he invited you and my brother to this meeting?"

"No, princess," came the succinct reply.

"Since Adrien was at the tavern," the prince rolled his eyes when she said this, but still wore a cheeky grin, "did my father tell you to come personally?"

He nodded.

"Was there anyone with him at that time?" she asked.

"Lord Dastery."

_He…he…didn't!_ She glanced at the door to the study, then, with a firm step, crossed the room and placed her head against the heavy wood. It was impossible to make out any words on the other side, but she could still make out the rumble of her father's deep voice and then, Lord Dastery's reply. Heavy footsteps, but no one came to the door. The anger that had begun to fill her chest earlier finally came to a boiling point. Her cheeks burned, and, as usual, tears of frustration dampened her eyes.

"Sis…?"

She turned the golden door-handle. Throwing the door open with all her strength, it slammed heavily against the wall. Lord Dastery swiveled in his seat at the long, redwood table, tipping a bottle of ink as he did so. Her father, however, did not even appear startled. He did not even glance at her. Instead, he continued to stare at the roaring flames in the fireplace, hands folded behind his back. The king was eerily calm, like the cloudless blue sky outside the castle. If weather truly responded to mood, it would be storming out to match the anger she felt inside.

"You…what…father!" she shouted incoherently, and finally settled on: "…Why?"

He turned his head slightly in her direction. "It is to keep you safe, Zelda."

"Safe…? Safe! But I told you… I told you I'm needed here…" The words fell from her mouth, but more like squeaky notes from a flute than thunder. Though Zelda had not told him the details of her dream, she had told him that she _had_ to stay. Tears fell from her eyes unwanted, dampening her cheeks. "Father, please…I beg you, don't do this."

He finally looked at her. In his cobalt eyes, she witnessed a sea of emotions: uncertainty, fear, even, perhaps, a taint of guilt. The king placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. "My dear child," he began, but did not try to bring her closer or cross the gap between them. At that moment, she felt like that small space was insurmountable, that the closeness they had before might now be lost. "I do this because I love you, Zelda, and your brother. I cannot stand to lose you..."

She turned aside, but inevitably found herself looking upon her mother's portrait above the fireplace. She could barely remember that woman, only her bell-like laugh, her ginger hair, and stunning green eyes. Neither had father told them stories about the woman he had loved and lost, yet she felt her heart sank to her stomach, and found herself studying the ornate carpet beneath her feet.

"I will go, father." Zelda sank into a chair at the end of the table, her resolve to fight him defeated. "But, please tell me, where do you plan to send us?"

He motioned for Adrien and Captain Vince to enter. The prince did so wearily, first glancing at his father with an angry glare when he noticed Zelda's tear-stained cheeks, then he made his way to the chair at the furthest point from the heavyset man. Adrien deliberately slumped into the chair, hitting the wall with the back of his chair, and threw his booted feet on top of the table. The captain, who had chosen to stand as was his wont, coughed, commanding the prince with his eyes to take his feet off and to try, for once, to act somewhat princely.

At any other time, Zelda would have found Adrien's obedience amusing; instead, she barely managed a fake smile. She turned once more to her father who finally spoke, "Samuel, you, two other knights, and some of the royal guard will escort my children to the City of Ordon."

The man, in question, furrowed his brow. "Ordon is two weeks travel from here," the captain remarked, "It's not my place to question your orders, Daphnes, but what has changed? Why take the princess from the Castle when the people need her here?"

"Zelda can answer that," said Lord Dastery, "Though..."

"I had a vision…or…I think it was a vision…" All of their eyes landed on her; Zelda's face flushed. Adrien and father raised identical eyebrows as she spoke. Zelda's throat grew dry, but to her surprise, it was old man Dastery who gave her hand a comforting squeeze. She was sure he had doubts. He was, after all, a scholar who had become a Councilman and a lord due to his erudite nature instead of by birth. But he was also the person most familiar with the ancient texts and prophecies in the kingdom. If anyone could prove that what she saw wasn't just a nightmare, he could.

"I think…it…it was a warning. A warning that the King of Evil would soon return." Zelda played with her hair. "There was just so much…fighting, war, bloodshed. Kokiri Forest burned, Death Mountain turned cold, and a voice—the Evil King's voice—asked me where the hero was. Where he had gone. It was as if he was hidden or lost, I didn't understand it."

Zelda shook her head. "Then…then I saw me."

"And what did you do?" asked Dastery as he took notes in a letter bound book.

She looked at her father. "It doesn't matter."

"Child, it is important," he said, "I have once again looked over your ancestor's visions before I came to this meeting, while I remain skeptical, this…dream does sound similar to them."

"I see," said her father.

"While your plans may not align with that of your father's, it does not mean that they are undone, nor does it mean that he and I won't listen." He gave the king a reproaching glare. It reminded Zelda that Lord Dastery had once been his tutor as well. "Continue in your own time, child."

Gathering her thoughts, Zelda sat still for a few moments. What would they do if they knew the truth? Would he still send her away? Could she reason with her father, a man she knew could be as stubborn as the castle walls were hard? She took a deep breath, and finally broke her silence: "I took up a rapier and led the forces. It was me. I promised to stand, father…so, please, don't send me to Ordon. What could I ever accomplish there?"

"You know, she has a point," said Adrien who now rested his head upon his hands in an almost thoughtful manner. "I can't say I want to go either, it's not like the girl's in Ordona are nearly as pretty as those in the Lanayru Province. And speaking of girls, I happen to remember a lady who I promised to meet for tea this afternoon, I shouldn—"

"Adrien, do not interrupt," said the king, he then spoke to the captain in a low tone of voice, "Samuel, have a scribe send Lady Valenette a formal apology once we are done."

The captain nodded.

"My decision still stands," said the king, "May the gods forgive me for what I have done."

He left, leaving Zelda frozen, unable to move as she watched the others follow suit one by one. Adrien had gone in a furious rage; Captain Vince with a polite nod; and Lord Dastery requested to speak with her as soon as she was ready. Once she was alone, the tears came again, first wiggling down her face and then, falling freely. _Nayru_, she thought, resting her forehead on her sleeves, as she cried into them._ I thought you were wise, father, not selfish! I thought you'd put the kingdom first, not me..._

_I…I trusted you._ She sniffed. _But what do I do now?_

She heard heavy footsteps from behind, but did not look. Zelda didn't respond when his hands rested on her shoulders. Instead of hugging her as he often would, he spoke, his eyes, doubtlessly, on the portrait of his wife, "have I ever told you what happened to her?"

She did not respond. Her father moved a chair and sat beside her. "Zelda, my dear child, you are all I have left."

He placed her head against his chest, letting her tears dampen his thick, kingly robes. "You weren't too young to remember, but when your mother was…assassinated, I had Nicholas wipe your memory of her death. We found you with her when it happened. Your mind was broken, that is why you cannot recall her, child, I could not let my daughter…"

A few tears landed on her hair. She tilted her head, and, despite the part of her that was still angry, the part that was still enraged that he had not listened, she hugged him in return, burying her head in his robes once more.

"I've…almost forgotten her completely," she said after several moments had passed by, "Did Adrien...?"

"He remembers more than you," answered her father. Zelda slid back into her own chair. He still had one arm wrapped around her shoulder, however. "And blames me for what happened. He thinks, I believe, that had I not gone hunting that day, I could have stopped her assailant."

"And," Zelda said, bowing her head, "you think so too."

"That is why I must protect you."

"Father…"

"I do not ask you not to resent me, dear child," said the king, "but I am too weak to sacrifice my own child at the whim of the gods. Please, forgive me, but I love you too much to let the gods make you a toy in their games."

She nodded. But found that, for the moment, she could not forgive him. For now, anyways, forgiveness would have to wait.

000

In a moonlit chamber, a sword rested in its eternal slumber in a stone pedestal. This was the Master Sword, a legendary blade once wielded by the Hero of Time to defeat the forces of darkness in a time long ago. A time long past that the most ancient tombs only held legends and a few snippets of history and prophecy. What they had from that time was mostly half-remembered lies, but Nicholas was sure that such words would do little to quill the fear their fear. _And if I am to be honest with myself, I fear it to._

The very thought made him shiver.

_Though only time can decide if it was a vision or not_, he thought as he slowly climbed down the steps which led further down into the chamber. The small light spell he had crafted into his staff was enough to light the way so that he could see the edge of his robe and the stairs beneath his feet. Of course, his hip could give out or his bad knees could cause him to fall, but neither of these ill fates occurred. Instead, he reached the bottom of the staircase unharmed. From there Nicholas could hear that poor child praying, beseeching the gods for guidance and hope.

"And please, make father change his mind." Zelda lifted her head when she heard his irregular and slow gait. The child was on her knees, a shawl drafted over her shoulders. On the back of the cream colored cloth there was a blue phoenix dyed into the fabric. It was an impossibly old emblem preserved by an ancient spell sewed into the other side. The shawl had been passed down the royal line. Before her, it had been Daphnes', though, he had never used it, and before him, his mother's. One old, dusty myth said it had been the sailcloth that the first Zelda—the human incarnation of the Goddess Hylia—had given to her hero in a time before time.

That could only be symbolic. Not even the best Crafter and Mage could create a sailcloth that lasted that long. _It's probably just a replicate._

But he was not here to reminiscent on a piece of cloth that could give no answers for its real origin. He may be known to get lost in thought, but he _did_ have business to get to. Thus, he climbed the few steps that led to the pedestal, gazing up at the giant, stone statues of ancient knights and then at the remarkable stained glass windows. Each housed the icon of an ancient sage, their image held forever in the ancient artwork lit by light spell carved into the glass.

"I've always found this chamber amazing," he said, having caught his breath while he was lost in cobwebs inside his head. "Excellent architecture, but not just that, the magic is used here is…_art_ in itself."

"And history."

"Oh, of course, but I did not want to bore you with such an obvious point." He smiled. "That, however, is not why I have come."

"Do not tell me I should be in bed," said she, "I will not be leaving for a week yet."

"Wouldn't listen if I did." He stuck his hand in robes, then, took a large scroll from within. Like most Hyruleans, he had a small bag that could fit more in it than should have been possible. But unlike what foreigners believed, there were limits. He could not fit a horse in one, at least not one as small as this. "Child, what brought you here?"

"I wished to speak with the Goddess of Time." She now sat, her legs folded beneath her. It was good that she no longer wore that bulky gown. Instead, Zelda now wore a long, simple blouse and beige slacks. Something that would cause a scandal if the _Times _heard of it, but unlike her brother she would never dare provoke them. "This is her Temple though it has changed from the days of old."

"Indeed," he said, "but is that all?"

"All?" She tilted her head to the side, looking more like the little girl she had been not too long ago. "Whatever do you mean?"

"This is also where one may enter the Sacred Realm, and, of course, where one can enter the Chamber of the Sages and the Temple of Light." Nicholas handed her the scroll, beckoning her to open it. After doing so, Zelda frowned.

"It's a map," Zelda remarked, dryly.

_Obviously child,_ he thought in response. Some responses he had learned to keep to himself. Age could teach some wisdom, especially wisdom pertaining to _when_ one should keep their mouth shut. "More than that, it tells you where the Temples and the Sages, or their descendants, may be found."

For a while she studied it, but the frown on her face grew deeper. Zelda shook her head and began to roll it up, but Nicholas pointed to a dot in the southeast corner with his staff. "Can you read the label?"

Unlike Adrien she did not roll her eyes, but she did sigh a little in annoyance. "Yes," she answered, squinting her eyes due to the lack of light, "The label is in Ancient Hylian, but I think it translates to 'Woods'."

"'Forest'," he corrected. "That is where the Forest Sage and her Temple could be found."

Zelda said, "That doesn't matter. This map doesn't correspond to the current country. Years have passed since this map was made, Lord Dastery, I could never hope to even begin to…use it. Why are you smiling like that?"

"I see that you have learned so much from your studies, princess," his voice dripped with sarcasm. "If you had, you would know that forest is in the region of Ordona, near the City of Ordon. Three weeks, and you shall be there."

Zelda blinked. "Was this my father's doing?"

"No, no, child," Nicholas said. She carefully handed the scroll back to him. "A servant will deliver a case to you once I have transposed these locations onto a contemporary map."

"Advisor," she said, wrapping the shawl around her arms and thick torso like a blanket, "What made you…?"

"Betray Daphnes?" He furrowed his brow.

The princess nodded, bowing her head.

"I wouldn't call it a betrayal, for I shan't be the one making a decision to act on this information." Nicholas gave her a smile punctuated by sadness. "It is your burden to make this choice, others may guide you, others may help you, but with a choice like this, it can never be made by other people. You child, must make it yourself."

"But," he added after he allowed that duty to sink in a little more, "if you must thank someone, it was the captain, not I, who came up with this scheme. I suppose I just didn't oppose it."

And a bottle of a hundred-year old Zora wine was not a bad pay off either. Nicholas just hoped that the princess made the right choice…and that he would not come to regret it. _You're putting Hyrule's future in the hands of a girl barely more than sixteen…_

_Gods_, he hoped his intuition hadn't fooled him.

000

**AN: Original moved to profile. **If someone can guess who Nicholas is the ancestor of, you get imaginary Christmas cookies!

Oi, how goes it? Opinions? Thoughts? Commemorative poetry? Dogs barking up a tree? Nic climbed the stairs and bumped his knee? Give me your thoughts if you be mean or nice and I will play a game of dice. ;)


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